I set them free
unintentionally,
their bondage lost in hand's decree.
They rise and fall
like tiny gray-haired Buddhist monks
past due for a shave.
What it must be like
to ride amongst the frigid moonlight
onto the rails of inviting
porch glow.
You look back, your shackles
falling fast to earth,
and only the army of stars
matters anymore. That,
and your comrades,
close behind.














Comments
And I thought Buddhist monks were bald
Previous PageNext Page